Dance of the Duelist
by Waffleface
Summary: Our young man's journey takes him to the proud gates of Demacia, where he quickly finds himself out of his element once again. How might he adjust, however temporarily, to life in this golden city? What might there be to learn amidst its tidy populace?


_After my last one, I've decided to continue onward in this series!_

_After this one, I might be taking a break from this series so I can finally finish the next chapter of Foxy Lady.  
_

_Smut and Violence ahead! Also, really, really, really hot french accents!_

_Credit goes to 5-ish on deviantart for the cover image.  
_

Disclaimer: I do not own League of Legends and any associated characters of Locations.

They are the property of Riot Games.

* * *

Civilization. Something I never thought I'd see again.

I approached the massive walls of Demacia, reflecting on my recent escapade before shoving it out of my mind as I felt the reassuring poke of my student card in my palm, a comfort I had only recently discovered.

_The bearer of this card is under the protection of the Ionian Government: attacking them will be considered a threat to the Ionian people. _

_The card may be redeemed at any legal institution in the City-states of Demacia, Bandle City, Piltover, Zaun, Noxus, and Freljord. Using this card will deposit the required amount of gold in the reach of the seller. Purchases are monitored by the Ionian government, and any illegal purchases using this card will be considered a criminal act. This card has an unlimited number of uses, and expires in 350 days._

So, this was basically a 'get-out-of-jail free' card?

Was that one of the other ways Soraka was 'watching over us'? I rubbed my chin, contemplating the information.

The setting sun peeked over the edge of the horizon, taunting me with the promise of rest. I had bigger problems to worry about, however, as the two guards on each end of the gate- the open structure, easily twenty times my height and width-didn't look particularly amicable. A loud scoff from one as I approached solidified my suspicions: I was not welcome here, at least for now.

I made my way to the northern guard, coughing to get his attention as I approach.

"I seek entrance into the city."

Surprisingly, my voice does not falter-I expected to sound cowed and intimidated by his faceless helmet and tall, imposing figure-but I must have been wrong. His helmet shifts slightly, and I can guess that he's wrinkling his nose.

"You could be a Noxian spy, for all we know. Why should we just let you in?"

An excellent point. Unfortunately, I hadn't-

"Let him through, Comrade Arthur. Noxus wouldn't hire someone as puny as him for their machinations."

The condescending comment came from the other guard at the gate, jabbing his spear towards me like I was something he'd pried off his boot. I groaned inwardly, mildly grateful as Arthur grunted and stepped aside, allowing me through. All it took was an insult to get me through the gates. Wonderful.

Immediately after clearing the gate, I was assaulted by all manner of bright colors. Uniformly yellow-and-blue-painted houses lined the streets, tightly packed together like the office cubicles I had heard of from Piltover. Little space for alleys was allowed between each building, and a single path ran the length of several miles before splitting off into a town square. The street was perfectly well-kept-not a single speck of dust, trash, or junk littered the pristine, shining stones. The same sheen could be seen radiating off of the gold-and-blue robe and armor-clad citizens, moving about in an orderly, upright fashion as they reveled in their perfection.

Though the city was abuzz with activity, and there was a fair share of noise, the entire area felt...muted. Suppressed. I was disquieted by the order. I needed rest before I could explore the city and figure out my next move.

Fortunately, the telltale hanging wooden sign (painted blue and yellow, of course) signified a tavern, and I quietly made my way towards it, making sure to avoid speaking or garnering the attention of any guards-I didn't know how they'd react to someone grubby like me in their pristine city, even if I had been allowed in.

The burly innkeeper was a little surprised when gold coins materialized out of nowhere and landed on his lap, but before I knew it, I was escorted up to my room and lying face first on the well-knitted covers. Everything else was a blur, but I was asleep almost immediately, finally allowed some true rest for the first time in almost a week.

* * *

I woke slowly, groggily, my head pounding heavily. I took a quick view of my surroundings-a single bed, a nightstand, and a doorway out of a room only slightly larger than the bed itself-everything, even the wooden floor, was colored gold and blue.

The uniformity of that color was starting to disquiet me, and I hurried out of the room.

A quick, prepaid, hastily constructed (and surprisingly tasty) meal of chopped lamb and mashed potatoes vanished into my stomach, eliciting an embarrassing belch from myself. I thanked the innkeeper, washed myself, and exited swiftly.

Without a clear goal anymore-I felt lost, and not just because I had never visited Demacia before. I had no clear destination in mind.

It bothers me how indifferent I was to that fact.

As I stared dumbly at the street, trying to formulate some sort of plan, a series of shouts and cries met my ear, coming to the west, near one of the intersections. I found my legs carrying me to the noises-and indeed, my own curiosity was compelling me to move forward as well.

Only slightly ahead of me, four streets came together at the points of a diamond-shaped intersection, with a similarly shaped fountain sprouting out of the center, depicting a heroic, golden Demacian male archer firing an arrow of water into the sky before arcing down back into the fountain.

What was significantly more interesting was the spectacle occurring in front of it.

A small ring of citizens had gathered around in a loose circle near the eastern tip of the square. Hurrying over, the sound of clanging steel joined the shrill, feminine cries. Joining the ranks of watchers, I beheld a most curious sight.

Two women were crossing sword in the center of the crowd, a decent space having been cleared for their use. Apparently, I had stumbled in a break in the action, as both combatants were still, affording me the perfect chance to observe them.

The woman facing away from me seemed to be sagging, breathing heavily as she favored one gray sandeled leg over the other. A purple steel breastplate, void of a coat of arms, hugged her waist in between the two pieces of thick cloth draped across her hips and between the shoulders of her breastplate. A brown, rune-emblazoned shoulderpad weighed down her left shoulder while the other was content with a triangular scrap of leather. A heavy glove covered her right hand, colored and inscribed similarly to her shoulderpad. In the glove a massive black sword that should have taken two men of equal size to wield was effortlessly held by its owner-but besides the quiver in her grasp (indicative of her exhaustion), something else seemed...off about it. The blade was shaped more like a tine than a knife, with two prongs with a triangular space between them. Obviously, the blade was either damaged or poorly designed.

Her skin shined with droplets of sweat as her tied, snow-white hair fluttered with her every gasp. I couldn't see her face, but I reckoned it matched the color of the rest of her skin-a slightly lighter brown-tan color, perhaps- than the huntress I had...become acquainted with earlier. The direct uniformity of the tone ruled out sunburn or suntan, so that had to be her natural skin coloration. However, her direction prevented me from grasping her full appearance. But her opponent suffered from no such issue.

The other woman's entire body was clad in a black leather onepiece-one could also call it a catsuit- that hugged her form to a seemingly impossible (if not welcome) degree. The silky smooth curve of her thighs, made obvious by her gold-and-silver greaves, was completely visible all who glanced in her direction, to say nothing about how it jaw-droppingly tightened across her hips. A small golden chainmail breastplate outlined hugged the outline of her chest-and covered little else (the leather took care of the rest), obviously intended to display rather to defend. A white and red sleeveless vest, cut off just parallel to her elbows and concealing her neck, tapered off into several straps of silk that formed a dueling cloak around her left arm-her right arm was armored similarly (and tightly) to her greaves, wielding a silver, half-basket hilted fencing rapier at shoulder level, pointed towards her opponent.

Her raven hair, cut just below her jawline, swept over the left side of her face, concealing it despite the fluttering of the wind. Interestingly, the hair that covered her eye was a soft, reddish pink, as opposed to the otherwise uniform black-though the transition was seamless between the two colors. Her grayish-blue eyes were accentuated by her curved, black brow, pointing downwards towards the eyelid, faint, undisturbed blush padding her cheeks. Her nose was surprisingly soft, in contrast to the sharpness of her furrowed brow, the mocking pout in her deep red lips, and the upturned, smug tilt of her smooth chin.

She was obviously very sure of herself. And considering the unsteadiness of her opponent, she seemed justified.

It appeared I had begun my observation during a lull in the conflict. She made a move as if to sheath her sword, holding it against her shapely thigh and pointing the tip behind her and towards the ground. Her arm did not tremble-for all the world, she looked relaxed and unprepared.

Her opponent leapt at the opportunity, lifting her runed, broken blade up over her shoulder in a powerful, yet pained overhead slice-her elbow trembled slightly with the force of the blow.

The square went silent, and I could hear the blade whistle as it cut through the air, picking up speed. Yet the woman facing me did not move a muscle-in fact, she even extended her left hand as if to examine the nails under her black-gloves.

The blade reached her shoulders. I was certain that she had taken her taunting too far and was going to be the worse off for it.

_Clang!_

Dozens of tiny sparks shot out from the point of impact between the two swords. I stood there, mouth agape, at what had just occurred.

Faster than I could possible see with my eyes, the leather-clad duelist had brought her blade up to block the blow-the basket of her sword was resting against the meeting place of the two broken ends of her opponents' weapon.

A startled cry arose from the crowd, and it was with some difficulty that I resisted doing the same. Still, I found myself gasping silently to myself.

Clearly, her opponent was shocked as well, and was punished for it. With a twirl of her wrist, the black weapon was flicked out of her opponent's grasp. Before the now-disarmed combatant could react, the fencing blade whipped across her face, then again along her shoulder, and one more time across her knee. The white-haired woman let out a cry, falling onto one leg, struggling to hold herself up with her bandaged hands, before losing her strength and falling forward onto her stomach, legs extended behind her as her shoulders rose heavily.

A great hullaballoo arose from the audience at the sudden turns of events, but no one made a move to help her. Instead, the crowd, sensing that the battle was over, began to disperse, scattering and murmuring wildly amongst themselves. Soon, the only ones left were myself and the woman who had lost-the victor must have escaped into the masses.

She pawed at the ground, scraping her bare knees against the hot stones as she tried to pull herself to her blade. A slick trail of blood followed the path of her knee along the ground, quickly drying in the sun and leaving red pathways in the once-shining bricks.

I stepped forward, my footsteps echoing more loudly than I had anticipated. The woman kept moving forward, either ignoring me or unable to hear me. Standing up towards her, sitting on my knees beside her. She still didn't react to me, and I found myself speaking.

"You're bleeding."

"Here…to taunt…me too? Go ahead…not like I can fight…back…"

Her voice was strangled by her constricted posture and heavy, throaty coughs. I shook my head, although she couldn't see me.

"Let me take a look at that."

Really, I had no idea why I was doing this, but here I was, crouching down to help this unknown woman, draining some of my precious energy in the process.

Fuck my selfless upbringing.

I moved to flip her over, but she pushed me away with a weak shove of her right arm.

"I'll…do that myself."

With another cough, she placed reached out with both hands and grasped the hilt of her blade, pointing it at the ground and shoving upward, flipping herself onto her back.

The olive-tan of the rest of her skin graced her facial features with an illuminating sheen-though that could have just been the sun. Her mouth was set in a tight line, but the lips themselves were wonderfully plump and uniform in color. Her nose was less curved and soft than the other women I'd seen, but was instead a rugged and solid square shape in the center of her skull. White triangles scored just beneath her half-closed golden eyes were the only different color on her entire body from the shoulder up, and her eyebrows, curled up in a sign of pain and defeat, seamlessly branched off from the bridge of her nose.

However, I examined closer and was mildly startled to find signs of battle other than the one I had just witnessed. Dull, thick scars crisscrossed her features, especially concentrated near her eyes, with one long cut coming all the way from her hairline to the top of her cheek. A single fresh cut went across her chin, thin, puffy, and red-though not bleeding badly.

Her wear and tear lent her an air of endearment and pain-adding character to her scarred beauty. She had obviously been through a lot.

I shook my head, readying myself for the pain I was about to put myself through. I recalled the lessons of Soraka as I opened my palm and placed it on her knee, ignoring the blood coating my hands as she flinched.

Before I could act, another phrase reached my ears.

"Just vat do you zink you are doing, hm?"

I turned my head, keeping my hands on the loser's knee as I beheld the person behind me.

The skintight leather, the smug, upturned nose and the snicker of her pursed lips were unmistakable. It was the victor. She hadn't left after all-she had been watching the whole time, and was standing directly behind me.

She smirked, the act void of humor.

Her vowels were slightly exaggerated, drawn out and punctuated at their tips and end. The same could be said of her consonants, particularly her 'l's,'t's, and 'w's.

I still couldn't quite place its nationality. I guessed that it was a Demacian dialect of some sort or an accent carried over from a foreign language, but I'd never heard it before.

It was fresh, exotic, and terribly suggestive.

It occurred to me that I had been sitting in silence for several seconds. I coughed, trying to juggle my attention between forming a sentence and avoiding staring at her leather-clad form.

"I'm healing her. What does it look like?"

That came out a little shakier than I expected, and she noticed it, snickering.

"You should be humbled, peasant. Do you know _qui je suis_?"

I was starting to get mildly annoyed, assuming she had asked something along the lines 'know who I am?'. Was she going to say anything important with that erotic voice, or was she just here to bother me?

"No, and it doesn't matter. You're getting in the way of my healing. Did you have something to say?"

Before I could react, I heard the whistle of air, and a blade poked the tip of my nose. She leaned forward, sneering.

"_Je suis_ Fiora Laurent, ze greatest duelist in Demacia-and on Valoran. And you'll do vell to act a bit more _humbly_ in a situation like zis, before me."

"So what do you want?"

Fiora pointed with her chin at the loser.

"She challenged me to a duel, and lost-of course."

Fiora smiled, tapping my nose with the side of her blade as she kept one hand on her hips idly.

"She does not deserve aid-she has lost the right, having failed to stand up to her boasts, and has dishonored herself. I wouldn't expect you to understand the intricacies of dueling etiquette, however."

She sneered.

"_Je vous plains_-I pity you."

I didn't quite share her sentiments.

"Are you seriously telling me that your 'rules' rob someone of basic services because you beat them in a sport?"

Fiora did not move, but continued to maintain her dismissive tone and expression.

"Like I zaid-I don't expect you to understand."

I still didn't rise. I didn't know why, but she was provoking an angry righteousness I had never experienced. I hardly understood what I was saying.

"I don't care. Just because you're 'better' doesn't mean that she needs to suffer. How is that ideology different from certain Noxian philosophies that dictate that those in power use their abilities to abuse those without it?"

_That_ provoked a reaction. She pressed the blade further into my skin, drawing a tiny bubble of blood. Her smooth features hardened into anger.

"Do _not_ even conzider comparing _moi_ to those…_excécueurs_, _little boy_. You'll do well to stop before I run you through for your insolence."

I lifted my hand to move her sword away, ignoring her offended half- gasp as I turned to attend to my patient. I felt the blade poke at the base of my skull, and I truly didn't know why I was brushing her off like this-every instinct screamed to comply.

"Go on, then. Prove yourself to be a noble Demacian duelist by running through a helpless Ionian."

I knew she wouldn't call me out on my bluff, and she seemed a little startled that I mentioned that I was not of Demacia. It likely hadn't occurred to her, and she didn't think of the possibility that I might be lying. I heard a huff, and the sword withdrew.

"You stand up to _me_, child? Perhaps you are not worthless after all. Go on, zen. I vill not stop you. But remember vat you have done."

Now, what was I trying to remember about Soraka again…?

* * *

_She moves from one end of the bamboo-walled room to the other, leaning over each student's hunched shoulder to whisper words of encouragement as they overlook their patients._

_My brow sweats profusely as she approaches the student next to me, her teeth flashing in a brief smile._

_"Very good!"_

_The female student thanks her profusely and dismisses the green glow of her hands, shoulders shaking with effort as she attempted to relax herself and recover her strength._

_I begin to quiver as she turns to move to me, her hips swingi-_

_'Don'tthinkaboutitDont'tthinaboutitBadIdeaBadIdea. '_

_The color begins to fade from my hands, and I turn my attention back towards my target._

_My fingers scream and my throat catches with the effort of maintaining the energy. I close my eyes and attempt to blot out how Soraka's robe exposed the perked sides of her delightfully large endowments, bouncing slightly as she leans to my peripheral vision, ignoring how the smooth oval of her thighs is-_

_'ShutupShutupShutup! Don'tdisrespectheryouidiot.'_

_I can feel my target fading-their pulses become weaker and less frequent. _

_My heart sinks. This isn't working. What am I-_

_And then her ever-relaxing voice hits my ear._

_"Accept your struggle, student. Let it wash over you, invigorate you. Take your pain and use it to heal another's."_

_What did she mean? I dared not open my eyes, but tried to follow her advice. I focused on my burning fingers and scratched throat, and welcome it._

_The pain dulls to a throb, a distant ringing. Is it working?_

_Soraka seems to think so._

_"Do not worry, my child."_

_I feel my own pain dulling and draining as my energy slips from my body-I can feel the effects instantly. My muscles sag, void of nutrition and energy, and I take a deep breath._

_"Well done!"_

_I feel her reassuring hand on my shoulder, and I open my eyes and look down._

_The lotus flower extends its petals, brimming with new life._

* * *

My mind flashes out of the memory, and I ready myself. This was going to hurt. I take a deep breath, drawing from my scant reserves of energy to heal her.

My fingertips begin to glow a soft, welcoming green, which begins to spread up my hands to my palms and wrists, enveloping them in an emerald glow. I begin to shiver, stomach groaning as the nutrition it had so desired was swept out of it to empower my healing. I needed to end this quickly.

I closed my eyes and visualized her sliced knee, the tiny gleam of exposed bone and the pumping of gushing blood out the opening.

My head began to throb as I imagined said knee sealing up, the skin growing together and the bones reforming underneath the new protection. My fingertips prickled as I felt movement underneath them. I ignored it, and focused on transferring my body's energy into hers, empowering her own form and promoting the result I so desired. I picked up a surprised groan, then a strangled gasp from my patient-I assumed everything was going as planned.

I began to feel nauseous, feeling a distant tingling in my stomach and sensing burning throughout my arm muscles, yet I continued to push myself, feeling skin shift under my fingertips. My muscles sobbed, begging for release from this terrible burden.

I heeded their call, and cut off my focus and mental vision. Just like that, the movement stopped, and my heavy-lidded eyes slowly slid open.

Her neck was taut with muscle as she clutched her knee, dry tracks of tears marking the side of her cheek. She silently rocked back and forth, but she was no longer crying or sobbing. Her knee was, in fact, perfectly clean. The previous shine of bone was no longer visible, nor was there any fresh blood spurting from the cut. Dried blood crusted her lower leg still, but that was easily cleaned.

I looked over my handiwork, gleefully pleased with myself.

I felt positively giddy. And it escaped me that said giddiness was likely a result of blood rushing to my head to-

And just like that, I fell to my side, completely unconscious.

* * *

I arose with a gasp as cold liquid suddenly erupted onto my face, rousing me from my stupor. I blinked wildly, shaking my head as my head swam as my eyes stubbornly stayed shut.

"I was worried you were just going to lie there all day."

Who was that again? What had-

And my previous actions returned to me. The duel, the confrontation with Fiora, and my own fainting. I tentatively opened my eyes, and beheld the woman I had healed. She was staring down at me reproachfully, with a ring of sunlight surrounding her head.

"You almost went into a coma, your heart rate was so low."

Her brow furrows with concern.

"You could have killed yourself! Why did you do that?"

"I am curious as well, _petite Noxian_."

Her head quickly snapped to the side, turning to my right and past my line of sight. She said nothing, but continued trying to examine each and every pore on my clear forehead. At least, that's what I assumed she was doing, with the unnecessarily diligent manner in which she looked about my facial features. I shook my head, waving my arms towards her as I tried to make sense of my situation. She seemed a little offended, but stepped back nonetheless as I absorbed my surroundings.

I sat in a splinter-free blue wooden bench situated in what at first appeared to be the square I had seen earlier. It was still a meeting point for four paths, connecting in a star with a patriotic fountain in the center, behind my own seating. Differences became immediately apparent, however. The fountain itself was noticeably smaller, and the statue shrunk down to scale. Instead of being border by blue and gold houses, the entire area was covered in overhanging plants of wild and varied coloration. The golden pathways were slightly overgrown, and hummingbirds zipped through the air to attend to their plants.

The white-haired woman stood before me, arms folded over her chest as she tapped her foot. Fiora glared daggers into her back with her eyes, but her smug set in her jaw never wavered of flinched. I noticed both of their weapons were missing. The bright colors, combined presence of these two opponents, and my previous nausea left me dazed and confused. What was going on?

"Um, the guy is a little lost here. What just happened?"

The white-haired woman opened her mouth to speak, but Fiora beat her to the punch.

"After your _petite_ 'incident' where you stupidly insisted on healing _her_, your body…did not take that well. You babble quite a bit in your sleep, student."

Uh-oh. What else might have said?

…Then again, I had no-or very trivial- secrets (excluding my earlier, er, encounter in the jungle), so I figured I was safe with whatever information I might have unconsciously divulged.

"I simply took ze liberty of bringing you to a slightly more comfortable location…at least, it _vas_ comforting, until _she_ decided to show up."

Her words were laced with anger, but she reveled in the tiny victory she had scored over the (allegedly) Noxian woman. Ignoring the jibe, the Noxian stepped back, nodding to me.

"My name is Riven. And despite what she…"

Riven jerked her head towards Fiora, who busied herself by taking a deep sniff from an overhanging, four-petaled pink flower.

"…might say, I do not consider myself a Noxian, until the current mode of thought in the city-state has evolved past its current cesspool of cruelty."

"I do not recall inviting you to stay, Noxian. I challenged you, under ze promise of protection in Demacia, and now zat our duel is over...leave me, _Noxian_."

Riven stiffened at Fiora's rude tone, but complied reluctantly, as if hesitant to leave me with her-though I felt no extra safety with either, to tell the truth. She stepped out towards the path that curled around a corner-presumably to the exit. Just before she turns away, she moves to face me and, in a voice that could be heard by everyone in the garden but obviously only meant for me, made her concerns (suspected on my part) apparent.

"Careful-she's planning something. Keep on your guard."

Before I could respond, she was gone, her footsteps echoing away though the garden. Now it was just me and Fiora.

An awkward silence settled over the two of us. Fiora seemed perfectly content with the lack of noise, but my face reddened as I fiddled with my fingers and tried to avoid staring at her black-clad thighs...

_ShutupShutupShutUP!_

Fortunately, Fiora's voice halted that line of thought.

"_Je suis _very interested in hearing vat you have to zay about Valoran, . Perhaps you'd care to take our philosophical discussion elsewhere?

Despite the amicable air of delivery, I knew that I was going to speak to her whether I wanted to or not. Which, my brain was so kind as to remind me, I most certainly did. After all-that accent could drip poison into my ears for all I cared. I just wanted _more _of it.

* * *

She called a servant, Eustace, a smartly dressed butler nearing his senior years-to guide us to...wherever she intended for us to converse.

The porcelain tiles were a uniform black and white across the entire house, and that's mostly what I stared at the entire walk. I noticed a few displayed fencing swords-probably ancestral artifacts-but not much else about the layout of the house or its appearance.

I was too focused on _not_ fixing my gaze on Fiora's criminally perfect backside.

The tight black leather clung to her skin, revealing and expanding upon its full, glorious roundness. As she walked, her hips swung mouth-wateringly to the sides as her heeled boots clacked against the sharply echoing floor, further cementing its flawless nature. The line of stitching connecting her two pant legs-black and barely visible against the dark leather-gave me an exact image of her cheeks. Her vest ended almost directly above where her stitching started, further emphasizing its fullness.

Unfortunately, Fiora periodically dropped back to stand above me (literally-she was at least a quarter of a head taller than me, and I was a fairly well-sized individual), so my hungering gaze was only briefly sated-and I hoped to keep it in check, anyway.

Fiora and I remained relatively silent while Eustace went on about the architectural nature of House Laurent and its history, neither of which we payed attention to- Fiora because she had obviously heard this far too many times before, and me because I was far too concerned with how interesting the tiles seemed to be whenever the duelist was in front of me.

The same applied to when she stood next to me, as my eyes needed to avoid the perky curve of her breasts along her vest (and leather) and the side-section of her hips. And then Eustace let out in his frail, I'm-too-old-for-this voice.

"And this is the Lady Laurent's chambers."

He bows, and dread overcomes me-or might it be hope?-as I lookupon the two preserved swords that stand to the sides of the large, windowless double doors. Soft yellow lamps line the hallway behind me, filling the white passage with a surprising brightness.

"I will leave the Lord and the Lady to their business."

Before I could stop (or thank?)Eustace, Fiora had dismissed him with a nod of his head, the double doors swung open, and he was stepping purposefully away from the two of us.

It took a great deal of effort to avoid dropping my jaw onto the floor. As it stood, I managed to hold that back at the cost of straightening my jaw slightly-something that did not escape Fiora's notice.

"M_agnifique, non_?"

From the open doorway, a golden-threaded carpet spanned the length of the entire floor, only cutting off in front of an open balcony. The open screen afforded me a view of the outside-a small elevated and railed patio of orange wood that overlooked a stunning view of the city-great, heroic towers boldly standing out among the skyline.

The clean, soft breeze brushed my bangs aside, sweeping the elegantly (and perhaps simply) decorated chandelier in the wind, a single candle reflected infinitely by four simple points of crystal. Precisely placed, angular shapes reflected the sparse light, efficiently making use of a single light source by recycling the same brightness over again, keeping the room free of blackness.

To my right, across from the screen that led to the patio, another set of brightly colored mesh wires blocked my view of that area of the room, giving me space only to observe the two chairs before me, with their wooden skeleton and overly fluffy-looking arm and back rests. A low, polished glass table lay between them, with a small platter of seeded crackers and two steaming cups (with the expected additions, of course) atop the clear glass. And of course, beyond that, the bed.

Four curved and sphere-emblazoned wooden supports held up the square blue canopy towards the unadorned ceiling. No silky screen hung down from the small 'roof' of the bed, the softness saved for the embroidered turqoise cloth that made up the covers, smartly accompanying the 'patriotically' gold pair of pillows.

I gulped. This was a far cry from my simple, yet sufficient housing. I was in her element, and the best thing I could do was go along with what she wanted-which was, apparently, talk. Sensing (and possibly reveling in) my discomfort, Fiora moved from my side towards the silver screen across from the patio, head partially turned in my direction. I once struggled to avoid staring, biting my tongue to keep my mind focused on something other than, well, her.

"Be seated."

It was more of a command than a request, so I hurried over to the chair facing the screen she was heading towards. Taking care to not fall heavily down on the first soft surface I'd seen in days, I took care to sit down slowly. I sank slightly into the cotton, willing myself to keep a straight back. While I was facing away, I heard a small rustling, and my seated form beheld a Fiora with her legs crossed over each other, a hand resting on the side of her cheek and the other drumming her fingers along the armrest.

A small smirk graced the side of her mouth for an instant, and she gestured to the food.

"Help yourself."

I knew the food wasn't intended to be eaten-merely a display of manners, a secret language among the rich-but I suddenly realized how hungry I was, and was forever ignorant to such cultures. Extending a hand, I gingerly took a single cracker-a gold circle, pockmarked with various brown seeds-and took a tiny bite with the very tip of my teeth.

Buttery, with the seeds lending the occasional spark of bitter flavor. I swallowed quickly, sensing that to eat without speaking would be rude. My eyes flicked about the room, awkwardly waiting for either Fiora to put me out of my misery or for inspiration to suddenly come from the hanging chandelier. Fortunately, Fiora eventually relived me of my burden.

"So...you believe zat ze private culture of aristocracy is comparable to that of Noxus? A bold proclamation, _non_?"

Her foreign words were obvious in their meaning-despite her frequent usage of them, I could tell it was just a show to flaunt her original language, unique accent, and bilingual skills. I myself was limited to international language referred to as 'Valoranian'-my native language had never been a strong suit.

Remembering her question, I hurried to reply, quickly rephrasing my remembered statements.

"Well, Demacia argues that Noxus is anarchistic, and Noxus argues that Demacia is totalitarian. One undisputed fact is that those with power in Noxus generally don't use it to provide for those worse off, right?"

I pause, not expecting an answer but merely attempting to gauge her reaction. The hand on her cheek was now stroking her chin ever-so-slightly, her eyes limp in feigned indifference-her set jaw gave her scrutinization away.

"Well, in your upper-class culture, those who 'win' use that power to deprive others of ever attaining the position you've just reached. How is that different, from, say, a Noxian nobleman who uses his inherited wealth to drive out his brothers and avoid sharing it?"

Her proud chin tensed, and I could tell Fiora was biting back an outburst- and doing incredibly well in that regard.

"Then of course, a Demacian duelist who refuses to help a loser-or, for all intents and purposes, one less fortunate-is the same as a Noxian who gives no charity to the homeless beggar-perhaps even beating the poor man for his lack of wealth?"

Again, another miniscule flash across her eyes gave her interest away.

"Therefore, by your own cultural argument, everyone who has not attained your state of wealth is undeserving of it forever. After, all, if a duel loser is denied healing, then..."

I allow my sentence to trail off, letting the words I don't say speak for themselves.

We sit in silent contemplation. I begin to feel uneasy under Fiora's intense gaze, and my eyes falls to the floor as I feel her considering my words-judging me.

A sharp, almost dismissive guffaw breaks our (one-sided) awkward silence.

"It is clear zat _vous n'etes pas_ the disgusting street urchin I first made you out to be."

Fiora's tone was almost accepting-almost. A tiny sliver of pride, impossibly holding itself against the wave of recognition, held back her fully realized concession.

"You might even be properly educated. Your grasp of the finer arts of culture is nominal and your philosophy is...adequate."

She makes a waving gesture with her right, resting hand, her other still on her cheek.

"Where did you study, _monsieur Ionian?_

There was the faintest hint of accusation in her voice, as if it was the fault of my monastery for my apparent lack of eloquent philosophy.

"The Placidium, in the heart of Ionia."

I spoke without conviction, not rising to her imagined bait-perhaps I was being paranoid, assuming that her pride (or perhaps hubris) meant hostility.

Fiora almost stiffened, displaying (nearly) the first physical reaction to something I'd said all day.

"The Placidium...I recall ze healer, Soraka, informing me of zat...school."

I feel a surge of pride at the sudden knowledge that Soraka was informing more and more people of her incredible education and enlightenment center.

"Well, she _is_ our teacher."

_That_ gave me a reaction. She placed both hands on her armrests and leaned forward sharply, eyebrow raised in unfeigned interest.

"You...studied under Soraka?"

Before I could answer, she stood up sharply, totally absorbed in our conversation all of a sudden.

Fiora faced me now, left hand on the meeting point of her boot and thigh and the other curled away from her hip, balancing her weight on her left leg.

She brushed a pink strand of her over her ear, which immediately slid back over her eye-obviously, an expected result.

"...I must reaffirm what you said. _Vous...vous avez étudié _with Soraka?"

I didn't understand her fascination. Yes, Soraka was...extraordinary, but why did that merit this reaction?

"...Yes, for several years, and for a few of my classes."

Fiora stares for a moment, her one visible eye twinkling with thought.

"I see...I see..."

I'm starting to feel nervous. What was she getting at? Was she just going to dwell on this one fact for the rest of the day until I was released?

"...Perhaps you attended a...very specific class, _non_?"

I began to notice a pattern-her foreign, exotic language faded when she was agitated. It had happened earlier with Riven, and it was happening again. Her accent remained, as did my confusion.

"W-what do you mean?"

Where was this leading, exactly?

"Soraka informed me of something...intriguing. It is common, apparently, for you Ionians to seek your brand of enlightenment through..."

I expected her to sneer, but instead, pure attention shone through her gaze.

"...through _sex_?"

Now she was sneering, mocking my stiffened back at her realization.

How did she learn of this? It was a closely guarded secret that certain classes focused on an almost orgiastic exploration into the bodies of one's fellow students.

This, unfortunately, recalled my one and only lesson in that regard...

* * *

_"Has everyone found their counterparts?"_

_An unbelievable awkwardness settled over the room. The entire class had been divided into groups-two pairs of girls rose together on their reed blankets, with two more standing on either side of a boy and the final female shuffling her feet between two larger male students.  
_

_I myself stood up next to my meditation partner, who I knew only as Spring Dance. We had been class partners together for our entire education, and this was going to be the strangest collaborative assignment yet.  
_

_The instructor, a well-exercised man of his middle ages, failed to hold back his amusement at our discomfort. However, he did seat himself, adopting a relaxed insight posture of bent knees.  
_

_"Go to your rooms. You will know what to do."  
_

_A calculated, quietly organized hustle to the dormitories of our partners ensued, with Spring Dance grabbing me by the hand and drawing me to her sleeping quarters.  
_

_At first, we started out innocently enough, sitting for what seemed like an eternity (but was most likely no more than a few moments) in focusing in on our inner energy, calming ourselves into a parody concentration. After the exercise, we were breathing deeply, feeling fully ready to explore this new method of looking into each other.  
_

_Unfortunately, feeling ready and being ready are two different things.  
_

_While I remember everything about what ensued, I'd rather not, seeing as I bubbled out an apology whenever Spring Dance tensed the slightest, which led to much pausing from both sides and giving our movement a rather silly stop-and-go feeling. And that's not counting the running dialogue.  
_

_"I don't thiaaaaaahh..."  
_

_"Ow! Stop that-eep!"  
_

_"Hfff...what's wrong?"  
_

_"D-do that again. What you just did."  
_

_"What did I do?"  
_

_"Here, let me try-"  
_

_"Ow!"  
_

_"How about this?"  
_

_"I think you're crushing me."  
_

_"It feels...nice."  
_

_"What?"  
_

_"T-try some more."  
_

_"Weren't we supposed to-"  
_

_Needless to say, we almost failed to accomplish either goal, but we just barely managed to attain both desired outcomes. We certainly never felt so self-examined ever before, for better or worse.  
_

* * *

I blinked rapidly, breaking my mind out of past events and returning to the present.

While amusing, the memory was best left as it was, forgotten and left behind. I was older now, and needed to treat myself as such.

I was suddenly aware of Fiora's impatient, protracted glare.

"Well? Is zis true?"

I held back a gulp. On one hand, keeping this a secret between our school was of utmost importance. On the _other_ hand, I knew lying wasn't going to lead me anywhere, and would only make the situation worse.

"...Yes."

As that single word escaped my lips, I couldn't help but wince. Not at my spilling of the secret-but at the cold gaze Fiora looked down on me with.

Fiora shook her head, muttering under her breath to herself.

"No, no, zis will not do...I cannot be outclassed by some little Crownguard..."

Her eyes shot upwards, and I wavered under her stare.

"Ionian. Among ze noblewomen of Demacian, your countrymen are...considered a prize. _Votre_ distance and isolation from ze rest of us makes your techniques an object of desire."

Fiora stood up, her stately features looking over my seated form with some (perhaps false) interest. She idly removed her silver boots, kicking them away, forgotten in her current revelation. The leather suit cut off just below her knees, and with another swift removal of her white exercise socks, her pink-painted toenails were now completely visible against the carpet.

I gulped, not thinking to disguise it. Her message began to dawn on me, and I couldn't really understand, or believe, what was happening.

"Now, I appear to be ze only one who (ironic, considering my superiority) has not experienced ze most exotic of lovers."

A cock of her chin, and I found myself standing up, my head tilted slightly upward to meet her gaze.

To my surprise, two gray orbs shined lust back at me, and Fiora slid her silver vest off with a shrug of her shoulders, allowing the light mail to fall onto the chair behind her. With practiced ease, her bust piece fell forward with a small 'clip', exposing the chest-hugging black leather that now was the only thing clothing her entire form.

Fiora's wrist clicked in her direction as she beckoned me over with assured authority. I stepped up to her, my heart racing. For some reason, I seemed to be extraordinarily luck with powerful women. Perhaps attending a sorceress's convention might result in an orgy?

I almost laughed, but stopped myself as Fiora placed a hand on my shoulder, looking down at me.

"Today, I remedy zat!"

Fiora lifted her left arm under her shoulder and grasped something on her upper back, then pulled downwards with an audible unzipping noise.

Her right arm disconnected from the bodysuit, and moved to grasp an area near her left shoulder. With a small tug, the leather went down and off, and the sleeve folded inside out, like the skin of a shedding snake. Ironic, considering that her onepiece basically functioned as a second skin.

However, she tucked the sleeve under her armpit, keeping her chest disguised as she went to work on her other shoulder. As the right sleeve was similarly peeled away, her cool gaze met mine.

A hidden message passed between us, or at least from her to me. I moved over to the balcony side of the bed, the carpet muffling my footsteps as I faced away from Fiora.

I was far too gone in to leave now. Of course, it's not like I wished to-if Fiora wanted to experience an Ionian, who was I to say no?

It _obviously_ had nothing to do with my own desire for her self-assured Demacian perfection.

Shaking free of my thoughts, I turned and found myself face-to-face (or rather face-to-upper-lip) with a now naked Fiora.

Her leather was in a sad, crumpled heap behind her, in a pile with her other discarded clothes, and the white flash of her undergarments was visible amidst the black and silver. Despite the inherently vulnerable position she found herself in, with me being clothed and herself naked, she still radiated control and superiority.

Fiora was prideful, arrogant, and condescending, but let it never be said that she wasn't courteous in the bedroom. She allowed me several moments to look her over, and I could make out her smile as my gaze began. She enjoyed the attention, despite how she might feel towards dallying with someone not of the noble houses.

Her hair was blowing lightly in the wind, resting against the pointed tip of her nose. The manner in which a single eye was mostly covered with the only pink section of her otherwise raven hair refined and exaggerated what was on display, allowing me to more fully appreciate (as I had earlier) the sharpness of her chin and the spotless complexion of her brow.

My gaze traveled downward. Unlike the heavily corded, tough physique of my previous lover, Fiora leaned towards a more agile end of the spectrum. Her clavicle bones sticking out amidst the peachy, sun-free skin near her lower neck. The structure was mimicked in her limbs, with obvious tone, yet of a slightly smoother edge than I had previous encountered. She wasn't bony and was well-exercised, but she didn't sport the incredible muscle mass of my last encounter, perhaps an intentional aim with her exercise regime. She seemed to straddle the line between slender and athletic comfortably, if such a thing were possible.

Her breasts were softly pointed and perked despite Fiora's rare relaxed posture. On the spectrum of female breasts I had seen (which was minimal), hers were of a far more delicate constitution, containing a greater emphasis on elegantly round-yet-perked edges and lightness in their curve, which is not to say that they were small-they were certainly nothing to scoff at. Two miniscule pink buds stood out on her chest, hardening in the chilled air. Sensing the location of my gaze, Fiora straightened her back the smallest amount, prompting her breasts to bounce slightly at the shift in angle.

The faintest indentations along the sides of her stomach indicated subtle lines of muscle, with the skin around her navel tight with tiny marks of her core strength. The connection between Fiora's thighs and her pelvis gave that area an outline of delectable roundness. Noticing where my observations had traveled, she set her legs slightly apart, resting on her left leg, to finally give me visual access to the final piece of the puzzle. The lips of her womanhood peeked out at me, the area above her pubis shining clean, bared to me completely.

Satisfied, Fiora took a step forward, walking, no, _strutting_ past my left shoulder, and my rapture was broken. As she faced away from me, moving decisively towards the side of the bed, I took the opportunity to observe her backside-her swaying hips attracted my vision, obviously her intention. The twin globes of her cheeks seemed to shine in the light, reflecting ever subtle, rounded curve. Her naked buttocks were even more well-rounded than when the leather hugged her cheeks, but color was the only true difference between her hindquarters than before.

Truly, she had one of the damn best backsides I was ever going to see.

Fiora turned, a smile ghosting across her face as my gaze shot back upwards. Resting her hands on the blanket behind her, allowing the cloth to pillow up around her fingers, she lowered herself onto the bed in a sitting position facing me.

"I zink you know vat to do."

Chin tilted upwards, amusement stamped across her features, Fiora spread her legs to shoulder-length, exposing herself to me, and I accepted the invitation.

Taking care not to fall too heavily, I instinctively lowered myself to the ground into what could almost be described as a kneeling position. One hand was placed on her left knee and pulled myself forward, rubbing the inside of her right thigh with the tips of my fingers. I marveled at how she just barely resisted stiffening at my touch, my hand a cold intrusion upon the warmth of her inner leg.

Traveling up her inner thigh, my eyes finally beheld the pink slit of her womanhood, and I continued to slide forward, my middle finger faintly coming to a rest just at the edge of the lips.

When that merited the same muted, stifled reaction from before, I took a risk and lightly held the right edge under my thumb, drawing to the side and releasing it instantly, allowing the soft lip to slip back into place.

Deciding to go the adventurous route, I removed my hand from her knee and placed both thumbs on either side and rubbed slightly, and was finally rewarded with the faintest shine of liquid between those two puffy, tender lips, at last indicating her arousal.

Without thinking, I bent my head forward and, extending my tongue, place it at the bottom of her slit, the soft pink muscle lightly poking the inside of her opening. The tip of my tongue, lightly pressured on both sides by her vaginal lips, curled downwards into the bottom of her cavity, exploring the damp, unseen wetness and nudging against the bottom wall.

Finally, I elicited a gasp from Fiora, a faint, low-pitched inhalation of air that vanished almost instantly, a swift, fleeting reward for my efforts, acknowledgment of my newly discovered talent.

Reaching back out for that reward, I twisted the pink muscle in her cavity, allowing it to grind against both walls in their movement. My slinking, obviously unexpected movements kept eliciting tiny rewards in the form of intakes of breath and stiffening of her legs, and I held back a grin that I had finally gotten Fiora to consistently give me positive feedback for my ministrations.

I thought back to the rapid, semi-forced tryst of several days ago, recalling my mild disappointment at the fleeting nature of my encounter.

I wasn't going to let it end so quickly for us, and it looked like she wouldn't, either. In my excitement with regards to the newness of this all, my exploratory, sampling appendage had sped up to the extent where my tongue was beginning to ache from the constant movement. In response, Fiora had subtly, perhaps unconsciously, brought her legs slowly together until her knees were nearly pressing against the sides of my head. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and redoubled my endeavors, making an effort to curl my tongue in unexpected motions-a flick to the side, a backward curl against the lip.

My tongue pressed against the underside of her pleasure center, and I rolled the tiny nub around in my tongue, curling around the little bud.

Finally, a significantly more audible, keening wail erupted from her, and I tightened my grip.

Before I could react, I felt a pair of hands on the back of my head, gripping tufts of hair as they pushed my head forward and my tongue deeper into her. My protest was muffled by the powerful thighs that held my head in place, the hands that shoved me forward, and the sudden tightening of her lips around me.

Locking around me like a vice, the sides of her womanhood contracted against me, and my eyes widened as she held me in place. With a mighty shudder, a flash of clear fluid shot out of her cavity, and I instinctively withdrew my tongue despite the grip of her vaginal lips and clamped my lips together as her climax spilled out onto my face.

Eyes closed, lips shut, I could only lie with my nose tickling the tip of her nub as liquid spilled onto my face, clinging tightly to my skin and forming a thin film over my nose. The hands and thighs holding me in place trembled, and at last released me, allowing me to fall backwards.

Holding myself up with one hand in a leaning-back position, I seized the collar of my clothing and rubbed the liquid out of my face, not venturing to taste the texture. The smooth fabric quickly rubbed the clinging liquid away, and with a small sniff, I managed to open my eyes.

Fiora sat in the same spread-leg position as before, but some of her elegance was faltering. A generous blush had become obvious on her cheeks, and every time her teeth failed to dig into her lip the ghost of a moan escaped her body. Faint trickles of liquid seeped down from her womanhood, forming a thin puddle on the very edge of the bedsheets. Her quivering thighs clung close together, and a finger trailed along the underside of her lip as she continued to ride out her orgasm.

I looked up at her semi-awkwardly for the next few moments as Fiora moaned, quivered, and moaned some more, waiting for some kind of instruction or opening. At last, her movement and noise began to fade, the blush started to recede from her cheeks and her half-closed eyes, shining with unexpected delight, met mine.

"Z-za...zat vas..."

Seeing my expectant gaze, Fiora made a great show of drawing a tongue across her lips and popping her lips in an 'O' shape.

"...___Incroyable_..."

Her form reasserted itself, and Fiora half-stood up, but sat back down as her legs, still weak from pleasure, refused to allow her to move. Returning to her previous position, she winked down at me uncharacteristically.

"You have certainly been taught well, _petite_ Ionian. Wouldn't you say that deserves a _reward_?"

And there went any reservations I had about my performance before, they vanished in that instant. Seemingly having recovered from her earlier climax, Fiora slid one leg under the other and twisted, ending up with her stomach mostly on the bed, but her legs and backside hanging off the blanket with her knees against the ground, splaying her legs out behind her. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, pillowing the two orbs up between the force of the squeeze and her weight against the bed, she drew her feet up onto the carpet, allowing her body to form a triangle against the bed as well as tilting her backside directly up towards me. Still facing away from me, she spread her thighs, her buttocks squeezing gently together as she formed a stable base on the carpet, jutting out her hips sensually in the process while supporting herself on her crossed arms.

The corners of her lips twitched with unabashed amusement at my gaping, limp-hanging jaw as I beheld the sight before me-her perfect backside, their twin curves perfectly visible to me, crowning the opening of her once-again damp sex, revealing its long-sought-after pinkness to my gaze.

She opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. Before she could get what she was trying to say out, my pants were lying in a heap on the floor below me, shocking even myself with the speed of their removal.

Wait, I took them off?

Evidently so, given the downward angle of Fiora's gaze as well as the intense breeze suddenly accessing my bare legs. When focused on a fine rump, a man can do incredible things.

Wrapping a hand gingerly around the base of my painfully erect, throbbing member, I took a step towards her, the very tip nudging the entrance to her womanhood, and paused as a drop of liquid seeped out onto my member, trailing down until it slipped off once it hit my index finger. Despite my sudden, unexpected initiative and her obvious receptiveness, I still felt the urge to wait until I had been given permission before continuing.

Huh, maybe that kind of thing was just more appealing. I wasn't sure, until Fiora spoke up.

"Do...do not stop now, _Ionian_."

Her earlier demanding coolness was gone, replaced by the teasing, oh-so-erotic tone from before. But this one was laced with something else, and as I looked into her eyes and finally understood what it was.

Need. A genuine want for not just anyone, but for me.

Moving forward, I allowed my member to rest against her opening, the head barely poking at the entrance without penetrating it. I was far to occupied with caressing her gloriously shaped rump, marveling and how well my hands failed to cup all the way around them, and how I could find the greatest stability in holding just near the hip-

Suddenly, I was enveloped by hot, sticky wetness, and my loose grip on her backside faltered as they slide backwards, coming a quarter of the way to my hip-hardly a nudge, really. But it was enough for me to understand what had occurred.

Looking down slightly, I beheld my length, the area around the tip buried in the opening that resided below her backside. My fingers had shifted slightly forward on said backside.

Losing her patience, Fiora had thrust back onto my length, enveloping the initial portion with her backwards lunge. Fluids now collected in increasing frequency around my member. And through it all, Fiora's taunting sentence, half-strained from tease-induced pleasure as she slid backwards the smallest bit once again, prompting the smallest gasp from myself. I hadn't expected such a...suddenness, even if it was low-key pleasure in the best possible way.

"Too slow"!

So I obliged, securing my hands on the gloriously well-rounded globes of her buttocks and pulling back, escaping her warm, clutching embrace before thrusting haphazardly back into the heat. I cringed from the pleasure, the unknown exploration, finally being able to move at my own pace, and loosely grabbed her backside before I lost my grip. A half-gasp escaped Fiora, but her teeth bit down before anything else could escape.

I needed that sound again. I _had_ to have fresh acknowledgement of what I was able to do. I stabbed heedlessly forward, thrusting my hips and arching my back as I pushed through her internal walls, feeling her squeeze delightfully against me with each centimeter of newly touched territory, hugging my member until I knew she would let me no further.

Opening my eyes, I looked down and beheld the globes of her buttocks pillowing up against my hips, my length no longer visible beneath the milky curves.

I knew that somewhere, beneath her skin, our bodies were joined in a waltz, except that my blade was the only one being wielded by the both of us. And I liked the sensation of not being able to see my length due to the body beneath me. Considering that she wasn't letting me go anytime soon-and she had dropped all pretense of disguising her pleasure, if her muted moans and the delightful arch in her back were any indication-I rocked my hips into hers, keeping my length inside her while allowing it space to brush against each and every inch of Fiora's sheath.

Immediately, Fiora let out another moan, and my shins prickled as her toenails curled inward and dug into my knees. I didn't quite know what I had done, or how it merited such reaction, but the results were obviously enjoyable for my partner. To say nothing about how she seemed to pulse against me with each exclamation, and I hilted myself unnecessarily once again-and then suddenly her walls tightened, constricting my movement.

By focusing so much on the minute details of Fiora's reaction, I had allowed it to completely slip my mind that I had continued the steady rotation of my pelvis, continuing to stimulate Fiora without thought or effort, and my sharp movement had prodded something that put her over the edge, however she tried to disguise it. So it was with some surprise that she cried out, arched her back even further, and clamped down on my member. I gasped at the ferociously pressure as she latched onto me, locking me inside of her and cutting off any further movement. Fiora climaxed with another wail, liquid rushing out onto my member, the tiniest bit dripping out onto her sheets.

The sound of her finale pushed me over the edge-the knowledge that I had made this justifiably condescending woman scream was a victory I wasn't ready for. Her orgasm heralded my own, and I began to thrust again, trying to bring myself to frantic release within the tunnel that seemed to not wish to relinquish me any more movement. My knuckles turned white against her buttocks as I gripped tighter than I should, my hips beginning to slap loudly against her behind with each excessive thrust. In my sex-fueled frenzy, I made out Fiora's surprisingly energetic protest.

"_Arrête!_ Not there! _Arr-_"

Another moan from her in-progress climax cut her off, but her complaint freed my mind. Her walls released me and I moved to withdraw myself, my member slipping smoothly out as I hurried to place it against the closest thing I could see-between her buttocks.

Her cheeks enveloped my member on both sides with their roundness, covering me in their hot, silky smoothness as I valiantly continued to thrust myself in between the cheeks. Under the constricting, choking grip of her backside, my pace had slowed-I was nearing my end, if my fading vision and the sudden tightness in my length was any indication.

Fiora must've felt it too, for she made a move to squeeze her backside together, cutting off my slowing movements. With my length trapped, her head tilted the faintest bit to the side, allowing her right, gray eye to meet mine.

"Your move."

Finally given permission to cum, I responded spectacularly to her order.

A thick rope of fluid cascaded out from the member between her buttocks, curling downward in the air and splashing across the back of her head, white snow against the black and pink bush of her hair. Another thick rope of white ejaculate splashed onto the back of her shoulders, with my third leaving a trail along her spine. My fingers dug into her rump, leaving red marks in the skin as my climax ended in a final explosion that coated the cavern of her backside.

Energy drained from my limbs, and I loosened my hold, my hands groping for a resting place along the curve of her thigh. The fair-skinned body beneath me shifted forward, freeing my wet length from her grip. My vision returned, stars fading from my eyesight as swinging Demacian hips crawled over the covers before me, sticky white liquid sliding between her cheeks and dripping down past her sex.

Accompanied by a drawn-out sigh, she flopped onto her back-somehow making the movement elegant-and beckoned me over with a tilt of her cum-stained hair. Warding off exhaustion, I half-stumbled, half-slunk over to the pillow beside her, my lions beginning to burn once again at the sight of her prone form and bare, satin breasts. With a great sigh, my eyes slid shut as my body relaxed against Fiora's arm, contentment finally seeping through her words as her voice brushed against my ear.

"I think I'll be arranging for us to discuss this again, _mon chéri._"

Another hint of want seeped through her lips, and as she shifted herself a little closer to me, supple breasts popping back into view before pillowing up against my shoulder, my lethargy disappeared, banished from my thoughts.

It looked like we were going to be discussing 'philosophy' for a great while longer.

* * *

_I'm alive!_

_Many, many thanks to Waddlebuff (and Cerallius) for providing me with support. Happy soon-birthday, bro!  
_

_This was a complete bitch to write. I hope the ending wasn't too corny.  
_

_Feedback is always appreciated. I'm sorry for having such a great gap between each of my stories...I've been very busy lately.  
_

_Thanks again, and sorry!  
_


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